Pulse
by enkie
Summary: “This is the beginning of the end, he thought the end of his shackles of which he calls life and of love so intense it tortures his soul.” As Shikamaru lay slowly dying, he remembers all that he holds dear. ShikaXIno and maybe others? [Updated, Ch 2 Re
1. The Beginning of the End

Shikamaru is dying.

From his angle, the autumn sky is clear, save for a few fluffy white clouds, the edges of his vision is framed by brilliant bursts of red and yellow maple leaf clusters. He has always loved the contrasting colors when he watches the sky from underneath a tree. The sky peeks through the leaves, never to be seen in its entirety; like the freedom he craves for this life, ever elusive. Everything up above seems to exist in blissful ignorance, even time itself is magically suspended; the trickles of the sand slow to an indiscernible wisp. Strange, that is how he feels now, suspended. He slowly blinks and the sky turns a shade of red, a trickle of blood has seeped from his brow down to his eye, coating his cornea.

_This isn't so bad really. Everyone makes such a huge deal out of it,_ he thinks casually, _but I really wish I could enjoy this last moment without all the noise._

"No, damnit! You stay with me, you bastard! You stay with me… stay…" Ino's pained wails drops into a choked whisper as she kneels next to him and clutches his hand desperately to her breast. "Sakura, do something!"

"Hush, Ino. Let me concentrate!" The pink-haired girl wears an intense mask of concentration, beads of sweat forming on her forehead and trickling down her nose, dripping soundlessly onto Shikamaru's gaping wounds, blending in with the bloody mess. It is a sickening sight; his entire left side is crushed, and his stomach is slashed open where pink viscera are visible. Around his body, a puddle of vibrant red slowly forms, sneakily seeping into the fabric of Sakura's pants. An orb of blue chakra forms between her cupped palms, and she gently presses it to Shikamaru's torso. After a few more of such attempts, she looks up at Ino's pleading eyes and helplessly shakes her head.

_Ino._ The name means something to the rough-haired, knot-browed Shikamaru, but he cannot quite recall who that is. His mind is a chaotic blur, and he feels cold. Sharp pain jabs at his chest, interrupting his thoughts, urging him to remember. It is an important name, the name of the most important person in his life. Suddenly, his line of vision darkens as a pair of pale blue eyes peers into his, eyes so blue they were the sky itself and he could lose himself watching them forever. _Ah, I remember now. Ino._ He smiles in satisfaction. It all seems so far away now, the years he has spent pretending she didn't mean anything more to him than some troublesome girl. _All for this moment. _She has never looked more beautiful than she does now, although she would disagree vehemently. Her cheeks crusted with dirt with tear streaks leaving clear tracks that reveal the porcelain skin beneath. Her pale blond hair stained with his blood and her clothes are torn from stumbling through the forest blindly, trying to carry him away from the battleground. Where her shoulder is visible through the rips, he can see a hideous bleeding gash. He frowns and tries to lift his hand to touch her but finds that he couldn't feel his body from the neck down.

"What is it? What…Do you need something? Anything!"

"I'm…dying, aren't I? Mendokusai…don't be so dramatic. It happens to everyone…eventually." His voice is barely above a strained rasp.

"Don't say that! You bastard, you promised we'd…do you still remember…?" Soft and sad, her warm breath gently brushes against his cheek. She uses a corner of her right sleeve to tenderly wipe away the trickle of blood that blinds his right eye.

"I remember…" he gasps and coughs as blood fills his lungs. His eyes are gradually losing their luster to settle into a mute glossy stare.

"No! Shika…stay, you bastard, stay! Sakura, oh my god, Sakura, do something…"

The frenzy around him blurs and fades as his consciousness plummets into a vacuum. In the darkness, he hears Ino's sobs and is momentarily saddened by the thought of not being apart of her world anymore. He welcomes the void with open arms, serene and calm. _This is the beginning of the end,_ he thought; the end of his shackles of which he calls life and of love so intense it tortures his soul. Memories far away, like kites loose from its strings, drift through the skies of his mind as he falls farther and farther into nothingness.

To be continued…

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ahhh! I can't believe I just wrote that. It's so morbid, don't you think? This is not the end, worry not. This story will chronicle all what I imagine should happen to Shika. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. I welcome any constructive criticism! 


	2. Birth

**AN:** So I took off the previously posted chapters to work them into something more finished and worthwhile. Here is one chapter from the fruits of my labor. Hopefully you'll agree that this is a probable sketch of Shikamaru's character. Also, some were confused as to what happened after the first chapter—death, in many cultures, is interpreted as a new beginning. That is why I have paced the story the way it is. You may not agree with it, but I sincerely hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless. Thank you all for reviewing. Especially to Prime Minister who gave me a very helpful and honest critique of my writing. His story, Worth the Trouble, is my inspiration for a Shika-centric story.

**Pulse  
Chapter 2 Birth**  
By Enkie

Shikamaru wasn't always a lazy kid. In fact, when he was but a tiny babe, he was most curious and energetic. The world was a swirl of colors and sounds that dazzled his curiosity. He was prematurely blessed, or cursed—depending on one's perceptive—with cognition ability as his mother painstakingly birthed him. Medical experts say that no one remembered being born because the experience—of being pushed out into a cold, hard world and violently smacked into a tearful wail—was too traumatizing, and in order to cope, the mind defensively repressed the memory.

Not so for Shikamaru.

He recalled every detail, including sensations, smells and sounds from that experience. He first became conscious seven months in the womb, although not completely—he was only vaguely aware of his existence. The world was monochromatic, dark and warm, and it swaddled him in comfort, but he quickly became bored by this simple existence. He kicked and wiggled for more room, little hands and feet prodded what little space there was. Perhaps that was why, one cold winter night, Haruko Nara was rushed through the doors of the hospital one month earlier than expected. Shikamaru wasn't about to wait around for life, he forged ahead and made life come to him. And when light appeared at the end of his journey, he emerged with vigor vitality and marveled at the variety of shapes and sounds surrounding him—he giggled. Shocked by this abnormality, the nurse automatically did what she was trained to do—she swung him upside down and smacked his bottom. He wailed, like all babies did, all the while giving the nurse an incredulous glare—even as his mother gently cooed him against her bosom. Years later, he stilled remembered that nurse with residual distaste and went through great lengths to avoid her whenever he was unfortunate enough to land himself in the hospital.

As fate would determine, his premature emergence in the world marked him physically smaller than other babies. He was a skinny thing with squinty eyes and too much hair, and he inherited none of his mother's beauty—not that she was spectacularly stunning, but she was still a step above the average female, definitely a catch compared to his father.

He uttered his first word when he was five months old while watching Shikato Nara and Inosha Yamanaka playing a game of shougi. The two men's wives had gone out on a shopping trip together and left the clueless duo to take care of the children. Inosha had just had himself a baby girl, three months older than the Nara boy. The two babies contrasted in every aspect, as day was to night. Where Shikamaru was skinny and small, Ino was plump and a good four pounds heavier. He had dark hair with small matching dark eyes, and she was blond with big clear blue orbs. Even their personality and chemistry were polar opposites.

People say children were more intuitive than adults, and this held true in Shikamaru and Ino's case. As soon as they were placed next to each other, Ino instinctively knew she did not like this foreign entity that threatened her share of attention and started to wail, while Shikamaru regarded her in solemn curiosity. The two irresponsible fathers, agitated by her incessant crying, placed her in the nursery room at the far end of the house, so they could concentrate on their game. Shikamaru sat in a low cradle next to them, fascinated by the jingling musical notes that came from the shougi pieces being jostled against one another—as they were taken out of the box. On their third game, as Shikato cornered Inosha on the board yet again, Shikamaru merrily giggled, "shekmade."

A stunned silence followed the happy declaration. The two men regarded each other, turned to Shikamaru and back again.

"Did…did my son just…speak?" Shikato's voice was trembling.

"I'm not sure. I think so?" Inosha said uneasily, "Are they supposed to talk this early?"

"How would I know?" Shikato's eyes were as wide as he could open them—narrow slits as his eyes were. "Did he say, 'checkmate'?"

"Shekmade!" Shikamaru's arms waved in excited acknowledgement.

That was when Shikato Nara knew he had himself a smart boy.

* * *

Surely that was the incident that led Shikamaru to love the game of shougi despite his peers snubbing it as an "old man's game." The truth was, he_ was_ an old man at heart. Children's memory retention was superior to adults. Their little brains are chock full of serotonin that helped them remember the passage of time; thus, to a five-year old child, the span of a year ran much longer than it would to a thirty-five year old. In Shika's case, his keen observation and photographic memory etched every thought and occurrence into his brain—each was then processed and analyzed to every last minute detail. Very little escaped his notice. One could even say, in philosophical terms, that by age five he'd already lived for twenty years.

He devoured books hungrily like a starving wolf, and within a few years he'd exhausted all resources available to him. Fortunately, unlike most parents of prodigies, the Nara household was quite free spirited—or some may argue that the Naras lacked parenting skills in general; they allowed Shikamaru to explore whatever interested him, neither pushing nor discouraging him.

Alas, the world of the written words and the world of life existed in parallel contradictions. Just because one knew everything there was about the variety of frogs that existed in the Southern Hemisphere, did not mean one also knew what to say to a bawling red-faced girl. There are some things that can only be learned through experiencing life.

He would learn his first life lesson at age four. His parents had placed him in kindergarten care, not because he intellectually needed it—no, he already surpassed those who were ten years his senior—but because they thought it would hone his social skills, which was admittedly lacking. He seemed to get along better with older children and even adults, but he always fared best on his own.

Fuuko-sensei was a soft-spoken woman of twenty years who was in charge of Shikamaru's class. She doled on the children with genuine smiles and afternoon stories. And she never forgot to bid each one of them goodbye at the end of the day. Girls and boys alike had their first innocent crush on this gentle soul, including Shikamaru.

He was very fond of her; she was like the older sister he never had. Being an only child was a lonely thing, not that he depended on other children's company to feel better. But sometimes, just sometimes, it was nice to have someone like Fuuko-sensei to spend time with. Eager to impress her, he showed off his smarts whenever he could, and Fuuko-sensei always awarded him with a special smile. Little did he realize, this caused a wave of jealousy among the other children who perceived his enthusiasm as a sneaky ploy to become Fuuko-sensei's favorite.

It happened on a quiet, ordinary Friday afternoon. In the kindergarten schoolyard, a group of children were playing a game of "Ninja vs. S-Class." Usually, each team fought over to have Shikamaru on their side, because he always came up with a plan that destroyed the opponent. But today was different. Each team leader picked their members, leaving Shikamaru as the lone one standing.

An awkward silence passed as the children regarded one another.

"Well, we can't have uneven teams." One finally spoke up.

"Yeah, that's unfair." "Well, Shikamaru will just have to go home." The other children eagerly nodded in agreement.

"But…we always played this together…" Shikamaru was confused. This was something new to him.

"Yeah, but that's before you became the teacher's pet." Junpei Hattori, a normally quiet child, boldly jabbed a finger into Shikamaru's chest. "Fuuko-sensei loves us all. Not just you!" The others murmured their distaste.

Shikamaru backed up a few step, surprised at the children's reactions. After a few calculating moments, he simply shrugged and strolled away. In that short time span, he'd figured out that standing out in a crowd of mediocrity was a grave social crime, and he also didn't really care that the other children were upset. However, from that day on, he stopped raising his hand eagerly to answer Fuuko-sensei's questions in class. There was one thing that the children said was true, Fuuko-sensei really did love them all. And he didn't have to do more than being who he was for her to give him a special smile.

Since then, he was accepted back into the crowd, but he'd politely turn down invites to join in the games. Instead, he spent his time watching the clouds adrift in the sky.

He yawned and stretched out on the grass like a lazy cat.

_This is what life is about._

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
